


Prepared and Willing

by BewareTheIdes15



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Dubious Consent, M/M, Plot What Plot, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-11
Updated: 2012-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-14 00:25:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BewareTheIdes15/pseuds/BewareTheIdes15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is a very dangerous place for you to be, reporter."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prepared and Willing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for salt_burn_porn on LJ for clex_monkie89 and chemm80's prompt lonely boy far from home. I would really love to explain the logic behind why this is what came out of that prompt, but logic is not a thing that happens in this skull. But hey, at least i finished something! Super-ultra-mega thanks to zubeneschamali for the fast beta and the help, because apparently my coding mojo is broken tonight!

The club is loud enough that Jared can't hear the glass-on-wood scrape of the tumbler the bartender pushes at him, amber liquid shining mellow and inviting in the muted, ruddy light reflected by crimson walls. Black and red for the color scheme seems a little heavy-handed to Jared, but then again, he doubts most of the people milling around a place like this care about 'vampiric authenticity'.   
  
The bartender - a girl with an blue-tipped faux hawk and lipstick so dark it might very well be black - leans in close enough that Jared can smell the mix of cigarette smoke and patchouli clinging to her skin and shouts "From Jensen," over the music.  
  
"Jensen?" Jared shouts back curiously but she’s already hustling down the bar to take someone's order.  
  
The redhead leaning against the bar next to him lets her eyes run up and down Jared's body obviously. He's been getting those looks all night. True, he isn't exactly up on what the hip wanna-be vampires are wearing these days, so he'd opted for a plain navy button-down over a black t-shirt and some decent jeans. Add another couple of pounds of chains and a little leather and he'd fit right in.  
  
He picks up the glass in front of him and sloshes the liquor around without drinking it, doing his best to subtly keep an eye out for anyone Conspicuous-With-A-Capital-C. It would help if _everyone_ didn't fit the bill.  
  
There's been a trend in the last six months of so-called 'vampire bars' cropping up around the country. Mostly it's just a fad for people who read too many sexy-vampire books - kind of one step to the left of goth clubs, two to the right of S&M - but a few of them have become hot spots for, well... there have been a few incidents of people who claim to have been bitten by actual vampires. Not that Jared believes any of that crap - odds are it's just some Twihards getting their kink on with fake fangs - but it's still a story that's captured public interest, and if it'll finally get something of his printed above the goddamn fold, then Jared's in.  
  
He's really starting to wonder, though, if there isn't some better way of getting the scoop than going undercover. True, none of his requests with management had turned up anything more than the same PR spiel that everyone’s running, but still, there is a honest to god limit to how many times he's willing to be eye-fucked by some loser pretending to be Lestat before he's going to start decking people.  
  
"Don't tell me I ordered the wrong drink," drawls out husky and low, close enough to Jared's ear that he feels breath tickle the soft hairs there. He startles, instinct sending his arm slamming into the chest of the man behind him.  
  
The guy doesn't even flinch, just stands there, all up in Jared's personal space, with this indolent grin that’s got nothing to do with the sharp intent in his eyes. Jared straightens his shoulders, trying not to let the absolute rock hardness of the muscle under his hands - and how strong is this guy, anyway if a push like that didn’t even budge him? - throw him off balance.  
  
"So you're Jensen?" he asks, shouting as casually as he can over the music. He'd heard the other dude's voice like it was playing in stereo inside his head a second ago.  
  
The stranger - Jensen - grins bigger, that shine in his eyes magnifying in the low light.  
  
"Mmm." He gives a nod. "And you are?"  
  
"Jared," blurts out of him automatically. Instant regret floods in for not coming up with a suitable lie. Despite appearances, Jared’s not exactly a rookie at this; why the hell is he letting this guy rattle him so bad?  
  
"Jared," Jensen repeats, rolling the word around on his tongue like a fine wine.  
  
The guy's good looking - objectively - not as tall as Jared, but still tall by normal standards. He's obviously playing at the 'I'm a real vampire' thing; head to toe black leather and lycra broken only by the shine of a pair of silver handcuffs clasped around one wrist for a bracelet. Sharp cheekbones, strong features, pouty bee-stung lips that look like they were made to… um, to do important lip things with. Like talking, that's a thing lips do. Talking about the seedy underbelly of the psuedo-vampire sub-culture. That's what he's here for, right? To get somebody to talk. So, yeah, just do that. No problem.  
  
Jesus, those eyes; even in the shitty lighting Jared can tell how green they are, how sharp and alive with emotion, like this man could hold entire conversations in the flicker of his gaze.  
  
Conversations! Yes, talking, there's supposed to be talking!  
  
Jensen leans in even closer - enough so that their bodies brush against one another on every breath - and dips one finger into the drink Jared had forgotten he's holding. That finger travels a slow path up to Jensen's mouth, slicking plump lips with liquor as it slides inside. There's a quick flash of pink as Jensen licks at the digit, sucking on it in a way that would make a pornstar seethe with envy. When his finger finally slips free, spit-shiny skin catching the light, Jared's eyes track it without his consent until Jensen's soft voice reaches his ears again.  
  
"It's safe, I promise," he says and Jared's brain takes much too long to figure out that he's talking about the drink. He doesn't miss Jensen's chuckle.  
  
"Do you come here often?" is out of his mouth before he's even formulated the words in his head. So very, very smooth. This is why he doesn’t do investigative work anymore. Or, you know, get laid practically ever.  
  
Jensen laughs, free and easy, the sound of it worming its way underneath Jared's skin, buzzing along his veins in place of the alcohol he still hasn't touched.  
  
"Every night," Jensen smirks, a velvet caress in the soft curve of his mouth. "I own it."  
  
And that's... well, that's really convenient, actually. Jared hadn't planned on meeting the owner, just kind of checking out the scene, but this is definitely better for the piece than some nobody goth-boy hitting on him. Some legit quotes from an insider, maybe even a peek at one of those 'private rooms' he's heard rumors about. That’s gotta be, page three at least.  
  
Quickly, he tries to formulate a way to interrogate the career-maker-on-a-silver-platter standing in front of him without giving himself away. Gets tripped up when Jensen leans in, the spicy, earthen scent of his skin turning both the air and Jared's brain thick as wet concrete, so close that his lips tease against Jared's neck.  
  
"You're not drinking," Jensen murmurs, the very tip of his tongue catching on Jared's earlobe. Any second now, Jared's really going to step back and put a stop to this. Maybe get some actual work done... or, you know, just not let this random guy walk all over him because he’s stupidly good looking  
  
Barring that – Jared’s body has apparently decided that it wants to stay nice and close to the dirty-hot stranger and fuck what Jared has to say on the matter - he whispers back like a challenge, "Neither are you."  
  
He can actually feel the little jolt as Jensen startles - point Jared! – and then he’s pulling back, just enough so that Jared can see the perfect arc of one raised eyebrow.  
  
"Is that an invitation?" he asks, and damn, Jared's tempted to ask him to say 'there's a hole in my sock' just to see if this guy can make anything sound obscene. Still the back and forth at least keeps Jared from feeling like a wounded gazelle in the lion's den, and Jensen's exactly the type of person he came here to scope out, so maybe if Jared can just keep him interested until his brain sputters all the way back to life, he can salvage this yet.  
  
That in mind, he goes ahead and gives his best shot at obscenity too, "Do you need one?"  
  
Jensen stares, openly stares, expressions flickering faster than Jared can register them - shock definitely, and interest, maybe even respect - before he settles into that mask of a grin again.  
  
"You're really something else," is spoken under his breath, but just like everything else the guy has said, it comes in clear as a bell for Jared. "Always more fun when things are consensual."  
  
That finger he'd fellated traces nonsense patterns over Jared's stomach through his shirts. Jared sucks in a sharp breath, just enough to pull away from the contact since it seems to be twisting his insides up in knots, heat rising like mercury through his chest and face. He keeps trying to force himself to look at anything but those big green eyes, ends up stuck on Jensen's lips again which is about as helpful as a lead parachute.  
  
"This is a very dangerous place for you to be, reporter," those lips tell him. It takes a long moment for that to swim through the goo of what used to be Jared's grey matter; long enough that by the time 'reporter' registers and his eyes fly back up to wickedly sparkling jade ones, they're crinkled at the corners from a grin.  
  
"I-" Jared starts automatically to deny it - so far these clubs, the supposedly ‘real’ ones, haven't been too forth-coming with the media beyond their pat PR drivel - but thinks better of it. Obviously Jensen knows who he is; hell, it's probably the whole reason he sent Jared the drink - damn, he's still holding that, isn't he? - in the first place. And no, there is no part of him that is bitter that Jensen's not just here because he wanted Jared. Or that he's basically let this man play him like a violin from the very start. "Is that a threat?"  
  
Jensen smiles like a really good sin. "Not at all," he breezes, his hand somehow finding itself a nice little home in the hair at the nape of Jared's neck. What is it with this guy and the touching? More to the point, what is it with Jared and not stopping the touching? "Just a little information from a concerned party. I thought you should know what you're getting yourself into."  
  
"I know what I'm doing," Jared tries to fire back defensively, but his voice comes out a little too breathless to manage it.  
  
Jensen chuckles again, pushed in so tight against Jared now that it rumbles right through his stomach and into his bones. "Baby, you don't have a clue."  
  
Something heavy forms in the pit of Jared's stomach, too hot and too cold all at once. It's a hell of a lot more like panic than Jared would care to admit, but he still can't make himself pull away or do anything at all but try and sound forceful while his knees threaten to give way for no good reason.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
Jensen runs an appraising, warm-honey gaze over Jared's body. Jared shivers in his suddenly too-small skin.  
  
"There are an awful lot of answers to that question," is all Jensen says, volumes of debauchery in the weight of his eyelids.  
  
To save his immortal soul, Jared couldn't say how they get to the dance floor, or even how long they've been there. All around him are sweat-shiny bodies, writhing along with what could loosely be called a beat. Men, women, people everywhere, hands on everyone. It's like on orgy, but with too many clothes. Not that Jared knows anything about orgies, but this is probably a good facsimile. Jensen could probably tell him - he seem like the kind of guy who's been there, done that.  
  
For a second Jared wonders if he's drunk. The way his head is reeling - not quite spinning, but definitely off its axis - and his heart is pounding a bass drum beat aren't quite right for a buzz, but there's no other reason, no other way. But no, he can't be drunk, because he hadn't bought himself anything yet and the drink Jensen sent him is shining in Jensen's cuffed hand.  
  
Jensen kicks it back with one heavy swallow, easy as if it was water. The glass he holds out at arms' length only to have it disappear somewhere into the crowd. Jared wonders if someone took it or if Jensen just dropped it, letting it get crushed to powder under platform heels and steel-toed boots.  
  
"I'm a little insulted." Warm fingertips against his chin turn Jared's head to face Jensen, suddenly even closer than he was a second ago. "I have very good liquor and very good taste. You would have liked it."  
  
Jared can't seem to remember how to breathe just now, let alone talk, so he ends up standing there dumbly until Jensen tips Jared's chin down with his fingers again.  
  
"See?" he says, and Jared doesn't have a prayer of answering this time either because Jensen's tongue is in the way.  
  
He does taste good; sweet and sharp and strange. Intoxicating. So much more than the hints of booze clinging to the roof of his mouth can account for. Jared feels dizzy with it, heady from the rush as his fingers ball in the back of Jensen's shirt and he presses his mouth tighter against Jensen's until it's right on the edge of pain.  
  
Jensen's hands slip up under the hem of Jared's shirt, a cool kiss of metal on the overheated skin at the small of his back as the chain of Jensen's cuffs drag ticklishly against him. Fuck, those cuffs, no way they're just decoration. More like an advertisement. He bets Jensen uses them all the time, wears them himself so they're handy anytime he needs to tie somebody down, take control.  
  
Yeah, he'd like that, being in control, fucking control freak, fucking hot, sexy, controlling bastard. Just put somebody where he wants them and do whatever whenever, for as long as he wants, have them totally at his mercy, Jared totally at his mercy.  
  
"Fuck." Jared gasps his way out of the kiss as Jensen's hand shoves rudely down the back of his jeans, fast-forwarding through the prelude and jumping the main event like a mugger in a dark alley.  
  
There's enough sweat on Jared's skin to make it almost-not-really easy when a thick fingertip presses inside of him, the sting of pain as it keeps on going twisting up somewhere between point A and point B so that it's a moan that comes spilling out of Jared's mouth instead of a hiss.  
  
He's rubbing the hard-on he doesn't remember getting against Jensen's hip hard enough that they should both probably be stumbling, but Jensen moves with it, picking up a rhythm along the way to make their fucking looking dancing instead of the other way around like everyone else on the dance floor.  
  
It feels so good Jared can hardly stand it, chest tight, nipples aching even though his nipples aren't even sensitive normally. He'd always thought they were kind of overrated to be honest, but rubbing against Jensen's chest through their shirts, Jared feels like he could come right fucking now if Jensen would just lay a hand on one of them.  
  
"I'm gonna come," he pants. His cheek is sliding against Jensen's stubble, the burn gone sweet enough to make his teeth ache as Jensen kind of idly nuzzles back, licking a little at the underside of Jared's jaw.  
  
"In a minute," Jensen responds, distracted-like. The slow draw of his finger sliding out of Jared, gritty push back in to just barely graze his prostate doesn't help at all with making 'right the hell now' less of a probability. Maybe the whimpery noise that jolts out of him conveys that, because then Jensen's back up in his face, fingers of one hand spanning his jaw in a tight grip as he repeats, all tried patience, "In a minute."  
  
He's hard too, Jared can feel it against his thigh, hot thick line of it pressing into his muscle, but he seems more interested in licking a line up Jared's throat.  
  
The word _vampire_ skitters across the surface of Jared's brain like autumn leaves, knocks a shaky, crazy laugh out of his chest right about the time a second finger wriggles the rim of his hole, forcing its way in past the resistance.  
  
Jared's pawing at Jensen's back, practically climbing him as his knees threaten to pack it in altogether. It must be obvious, has to be, so fucking obvious that Jensen's fingering him like a machine, pure precision in the stroke inside, so deep Jared can feel his ass sucking at Jensen's knuckles as Jensen leaves the most vicious hickey of Jared's fucking life way too high on his neck. Just painful enough to keep him from falling over the edge, to make it better somehow even though Jared is 100% positive that that's never been his thing before. His toes are curling inside his shoes and he feels like he swallowed a firecracker, heat spitting and spluttering in the pit of his gut as the fuse burns down, inevitable, inescapable.  
  
"Now," Jensen mumbles around a mouthful of Jared's neck and just like that the spark catches  
  
Jared knows his legs buckled, knows it, fully expects to find himself staring at the ceiling when he opens his eyes. Instead he's wedged into a corner semi-hidden behind one of the biggest speakers he's ever seen with Jensen breathing into his neck like he just ran a marathon. Or, more aptly, is _running_ one, since it's pretty clear when Jared glances down between them that Jensen's not done yet.  
  
He doesn't remember anyone undoing his pants, but Jared's junk is prominently on display, jeans hiked down around his hips and the sticky mess of his underwear peeled away to leave his cock and balls glittering wetly in the flashing lights. Jensen seems to be enjoying the view, hand wrapped tight around his own cock, jacking it fast with hard, short strokes. Jared puts a belated effort into not memorizing it because there's not going to be a next time, but then Jensen's come is splattering hot on his oversensitive skin and the heady high that had started to ebb jackknifes his spine.  
  
For a few long minutes Jared lets the wall take most of his weight while he tries to get feeling back into his outer extremities. Jensen stays huddled in close, breathing softly into Jared's neck and running his fingers through Jared's hair until the trembling he just now noticed eases up. This is not normal. Something… Something. Figuring things out is so much easier when his brain hasn't shut down.  
  
Once Jared feels like he can probably stand on his own, Jensen goes and tries to prove him wrong by stepping away, and seriously, how could he have been holding Jared up that much? He'd just come too, after all. After Jared, even.  
  
Without giving Jared a chance to point out any of these highly pertinent, partially coherent facts, Jensen holds up a glossy black card in front of Jared's face. It looks like a credit card or a hotel key, some kind of silver script written across it that Jared doesn't get a chance to make out before Jensen’s tucking the thin plastic into the wet mess at Jared's exposed groin.  
  
"Just in case you decide to stick it out," he explains, though Jared really doesn't have the mental capacity to figure out whether that's supposed to have been goading or warning - all of his already meager attention focused on the fingertips running a lightning-bug path down his soft, twitchy cock. "Now get the hell out of my club."  
  
Jared's too dumbfounded by the sudden shift to move when Jensen takes his hand back and actually gives a cursory effort toward covering Jared's shame, tugging his jeans up far enough to cover the worst of the damage. He leaves off with a couple of quick love-taps with backs of his fingers to the swell of Jared's balls underneath denim and a, "Sweet dreams, baby."  
  
Fast as that, he turns and melts into the writhing crowd of bodies, lost fast among the sea of people without so much as a glance over his shoulder in Jared’s direction.  
  
Like the floodgates opening, Jared’s common sense comes rushing in from wherever the hell it had escaped to, reminding him that hey, he’s partially naked and just had probably-not-very-subtle sex with a guy he doesn’t know, who pretends to be a _vampire_ recreationally in the middle of a club. And, by the way, he’s in pain. Kind of a lot of it, actually.   
  
His ass feels raw and there’s bound to be a collection of bruises on his hips based on the faint twinges of pain he can feel as he hurriedly does up his jeans, wincing at the cool sludge of come he can’t really do anything about. To say nothing of the fact that his neck feels like somebody shot him with a paintball gun. Jesus, he thinks Jensen actually bit him.  
  
Just to be contrary, Jared wipes the little black card clean on the wall’s soundproofing, squinting at the inscription in the limited light. _Solum parata venite et volende_.  
  
Oh delightful, foreign languages. Because what Jared’s foray into the vampire scene needed was some more hackneyed, obscure attempts at ambience.   
  
Furtively, Jared slips out of the shadows, but nobody seems to even notice he’s alive as he shoves his way through the throng toward the door.   
  
Outside the air is cool on his sweaty skin, doing a lot more for his state of mind than he’s really happy to think about. What the fuck got into him? He couldn’t have been drugged, he didn’t even drink anything! It was like he couldn’t control himself. Or worse, didn’t want to. Worse? That seems worse, doesn’t it?  
  
Jared slides into his car gingerly, the ache in his ass spiking as if he needed a reminder. What he ought to do is walk away from tonight and pretend it never happened. There’ll be other stories, ones where he can tell whether he just got sexually assaulted or had the best time of his life. But it… it feels unfinished somehow, like there’s something he doesn’t… hasn’t…   
  
On a whim Jared flicks his phone on, fighting autocorrect to get the strange words tapped into his browser. He stares down at the screen, then the shiny black card in his hand, trying to decide if the answer there makes him feel better of worse.  
  
" _Come only those prepared and willing_ "


End file.
